Good old Mr. Theroux
A bachelor through and through.
A week away from Christmas eve
His apartment he’d leave,
An old white bag clutched in hand;
No one seemed to understand
Why on a cold night one would stand
For hours up ‘til dawn.
They say he’s waiting for someone.
A long lost love?
A purpose? A sign?
Could be too that he’s just demented,
Or from a dark past, a soul tormented.
Then this year I came to find,
A woman in his stead.
She’s ready with her forgiveness, she said…
Only to find him already dead.
© 2012 K.Z. Morano